Firebird
by AlisonAPD
Summary: When Loki saw Natasha in the flames, he knew she was his firebird. Jotun!AU in which Loki grew up as a frost giant on Jotunheim from a prompt by the-coldness-from-within on tumblr; Blackfrost.
1. Flames

**1 Flames**

* * *

It started with the flames, a tiny circle of fire in the hearth. One of Helblindi's pets must have been chilled in the bitter ice and stones of the royal towers, and she started a small fire with a set of flints she had smuggled into Jotunheim from Alfheim. Caught by the smell of smoke, Loki stole inside the elf-maiden's room and hid behind her curtain to watch the fire. He ignored her sobs muffled in the furs on the bed, and crept closer to the mantel to look into the heart of the coals.

There he swore he saw a vision, that of a girl unlike any ever seen in all of Jotunheim. Hair waved around her face in curls the same color of the fire, and as he watched, entranced, she flickered just out of reach. The figure of that bright girl made him catch his breath with no reason for it; just seeing her there made him pant and lust more wildly than any of the sex-teachers he had been given up to as a youth, more than the wives of Jotun thanes he had talked into his bed.

The heat from the hearth seared his blue skin, but he ignored the pain. Loki's eyes closed, and he pictured the firebird coming into the Royal Tower, climbing the spiked ladders to his own room and consorting with him. Among his furs she would kiss his skin and taste his tongue until the pleasure set them both on fire...

Those dreams were interrupted when Helblindi himself burst into the room, causing the elf-maiden to gasp and sit upright in the bed. The tears on her high cheekbones glittered in the flames as Loki's brother threw the jug he carried into the mantel; the pot shattered among water and ice hissing over hot coals. The flames were extinguished at once.

The lady elf sank back on her furs, but Helblindi ignored her. Instead he strode to the corner where Loki crouched and dragged him out with his ear in one fist. The prince caught one final image of the lady, frozen with fear and astonishment, before he was pulled out into the hall and the door slammed shut with a kick. "Get out of that!" Helblindi bellowed. "Sniveling runt – were you sniffing around my pet's skirts hoping to get the spoils I leave behind?"

"Skadi knows I should never touch anyone you have already enjoyed – the mere thought makes me want to vomit," Loki retorted.

"Bugger off." Helblindi raised one mighty arm to strike, but without another word his brother twisted away and escaped.

* * *

Thus began Loki's fascination with fire. He stole the set of flints from the elf-maiden and spent several days looking for things to burn: branches he hacked from trees during the spare hours of light, and old furniture claimed from an attic room. There among the discarded weapons and ancient writings he created a small spark with the stones and lit the fire in the ashes of a forgotten fireplace, long since discarded.

Far away Farbauti shouted for Laufey and pounded her spear on the floor of her attic chambers. The floor trembled with the blow as well as the heavy _thoom, thoom_ of the soldiers marching out of the Tower – they must have been advised of another attempt on the realm. Just beyond the window the wind howled, flying with skirling snow and spatters of ice on the panes.

Loki ignored it all as well as the heat on his skin. Already his heart beat faster, so close to the deadly warmth of the fire. Enough time spent by the heart could cause him to contract sótt from the flames so close to his Jotun flesh.

The elf-maiden expired three days after Loki's discovery of the flames, tears icing on her cheeks in front of an open window. Apparently she had seated herself in front of the icy air rather than submit to Helblindi's embraces any longer. The Jotun prince, bereft of his pet, pounded up the stairs to the attic rooms in search of a different victim. "Loki!" he shouted. "Come here, you mud worm, you sand pox, vile vermin!"

Loki stared into the flames and covered his ears. To help ignore his brother's insults, he concentrated on the memory of the girl in the flames and he thought she might appear if he waited. One of the eldivðr popped, and a shower of sparks cascaded onto the hearth; he tumbled backwards with one arm over his face to protect his blue flesh.

And there she was – the girl in the fire. She seemed to hold something in one hand, an object she studied intently. It looked like a scroll covered with writing; Loki had a few of his own, stolen from Laufey's library, hidden under the flagstones in his room.

Growing careless, Loki peered closer. The vision was so clear, so close! He could see her lips move as she read, and her hands moved together as though to cup something. Her fingers were long and beautiful, her flesh of a sheen like pearls stolen by Laufey from one of his many raids on the realm of Asgard.

He shifted to see more of her, and within the fire the flame-maiden looked up suddenly. Her penetrating glance seemed to see him from the prison of the grate right away, and her eyebrows lifted in inquiry. One corner of her mouth curled as well, in a look that Loki recognized as pure mischief.

"I wish you could hear me," he muttered.

_Hear you,_ the vision whispered back. The sound went right to his prick with a sensation of thunder, of lightning. Loki felt electricity bolted through his body, and his mouth opened in surprise.

The eldivðr shifted, and to his intense disappointment his firebird disappeared. That was how he thought of her now: his firebird.

As if of its own volition his hand crept to his crotch, thrust inside his furs, and found the hardness her look had woken. Loki pretended it was those long, pale fingers as he stroked himself, squeezed the base, manipulated his flesh, swirled the clear drop at the slit to ease his touch as he palmed the tip…

"Loki!"

The shout came from Helblindi. Loki had no desire at all to face his brother and confront another onslaught of insults especially with an erection jutting from his furs; he would never hear the end of it. Hastily he crawled behind one of the large ruins of old furniture in the room to crouch there, shivering with fear and desire.

His elbow knocked against a bump on the wall – an old carving on the lintel of a dragon in full flight. Loki cursed at the pain, but as he did so a section of the stone wall moved to once side with a harsh, grating sound to reveal a dark hole.

Here was the very thing – a hiding place for when Laufey or Helblindi came to drag him by the ear downstairs. There he would be mocked and bullied as usual, not only by the king but also by the toadies and hangers-on who wished to winkle riches from the crown prince's pockets. Life was not easy for a runt among that brutal crowd.

The hole stretched behind him as far as his groping fingers could reach. Once his eyes grew accustomed to the dark Loki was able to see he was actually inside a tunnel, one he had never heard of or seen on any of the maps of Jotunheim and the Tower. He realized he could stand upright, and a breeze on his face told him there was air enough to breathe – at least for the moment.

"Loki! Come do my bidding, whelp! Appear so I might slit your belly!"

_Not a chance._ Bidding a mental farewell to Helblindi, Loki slid the panel shut and tiptoed into the tunnel to be swallowed by the dark.

* * *

"They are scrolls from my mother's room." Carefully Thor smoothed one of the parchments out on the table; Natasha leaned over his shoulder and looked at the writings within the document. "Alas, I never had the inclination for such things when she lived, and now it is too late."

She pressed his arm in sympathy and cautiously pointed to the marks on the page. "These tell of magic?"

"Yes. Queen Frigga was mistress of incantation and enchantment, and she tried to show me some of her skills several times. As I say, she was unable to teach me even the simplest spell."

Natasha scanned the scroll. She knew some Icelandic, and the writing was close to that glorious language with several unknown cuneiforms among the beautifully written words. "This is a spell here?" She indicated a section that almost seemed to swirl like smoke as she read it.

Thor pulled a face. "I am not sure – yes, I suppose it is. How did you know?"

"To be honest, I have no idea. It just _looked_ magical."

He tossed back his golden hair and gazed up at her. "It speaks to you, does it not?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. And this section here – it is dark. I'd guess it's a curse."

He stood so suddenly the chair shot back and crashed against the wall. Tony, who was half-asleep next to the coffee-pot, awoke with a loud snore and a grunt of "Whacha mean asleep I was listening the whole time."

Thor ignored him. "You seem to have the ability to feel the magic behind the texts. Ever did my mother try to show me, but I was completely unable to – well, to be honest, it was frustrating for us both. At the end she gave up on me entirely."

Natasha nodded; she could just imagine. Thor was the shining prince who was good at everything… she always thought of him as a bit of a pampered son. Perhaps his status as only child of two royal parents made him expectant of easily-won rewards. "I wish I could have met her," she said as she rolled up the scroll and carefully handed it back to him.

He grinned and pressed it back into her hands. "It would make me very happy – just as it would have thrilled the queen herself – if you would accept this scroll as a gift. Frigga would have loved to see it in the hands of someone who could at least sense the potential within."

"Hey, can I have a scroll too if you're handing out Asgardian knick-knacks?" Tony tried to grab Natasha's prize.

"No way. It's mine, Stark." She held it out of reach and went on tiptoe to kiss Thor's cheek. "Thanks so much! This is awesome. Know what? I'm gonna steal what's left in Stark's coffeepot and go read this before Fury calls me for babysitting or loan retrieval."

* * *

The one luxury Natasha added to her tiny apartment when she moved in was a small fireplace. Ice pellets rapped against the glass as she entered, and she thought a quick fire would make her rooms – cold and impersonal as they were – much more welcoming.

Once the flames leapt up inside the box-like hearth, she sat on the floor and unrolled Thor's gift. Under her fingertips the words and runes twisted and turned like tiny ink lizards warmed by the heat.

Phrases leapt off the page as she scanned it. "For finding hidden paths… to reveal the true nature of things… to hide one's form …" It was all fascinating and quite different from the love philters she had expected. One described a method of creating a light in the bearer's hand, and she cupped her fingers instinctively to try and create the spell as though she could actually get it to work.

The log in the flames popped, and Natasha looked up. In the heart of the fire she saw a figure with blue skin and red eyes watching her; his mouth hung open with fascination – and more. Yes, what she saw in his face was desire…

_I wish you could hear me,_ he mouthed.

_It's difficult to hear you,_ she replied inside her mind. At once his lips parted, and the red eyes widened; she could see his pupils darken with...

Yup, definitely desire.

Natasha shook her head, and the image disappeared. Studying texts hundreds of centuries old must have made her hallucinate. The act of deciphering the faded ink made her eyes blur and imagine a picture in the flames – one that moved and tried to speak to her.

That had to be only explanation.


	2. Magic

**2 Magic**

* * *

Natasha hunched over the scroll, felt the magic stream from the words under her fingers. She was the last person to believe in such things, but as soon as Thor handed her the parchment a surge of power bolted right from the words into her veins, and she could not deny the pleasure it gave her. In fact, holding the document (especially when she was in front of her tiny fireplace) made her sex tremble and jitter; twice she had considered picking up the phone to call one of her lovers, and both times the magic won out for her attentions.

Because she could _see_ it. There was no denying the possibilities within – Natasha could picture the spells described in the spiky writing, could call forth the words and runes, could picture the incantations, and yet she could not actually make them come alive. It was there, she knew it was. Natasha shifted, reread a spell designed to shift the user's appearance, and tried again to make it work. "Blue skin," she muttered. "That would be pretty cool, all paranormal and shit. Come on." The snapping electricity in her clit edged closer to orgasm, and she shuddered with the sensation. It was as though she sat in a glass cage with the enchantment on the other side of the wall, in plain view but completely out of reach.

After a few more attempts she put down the scroll, determined to call Thor and ask for more information. She picked up her phone and froze when she saw it was three in the morning – somehow five hours had passed without her realizing it.

* * *

"You have to find me more scrolls." Natasha had risen early despite a restless few hours of non-sleep and stood in Thor's doorway with her arms crossed. "I want to borrow them, and by 'borrow' I mean keep." It had gone beyond the point of asking; her thighs twitched with the desire to know more, to break out of the bubble and seize the magic just beyond her reach.

Just over Thor's shoulder, Jane waved a pot of coffee. "Want a cup?" Her hair fell messily over her face in a classic sex 'do; Natasha reflected sourly at least someone had a satisfying evening as she waved away the offer.

"I would be happy to give you more information, but I am afraid I must go to Asgard today and not return for some time." Thor's blue gaze crinkled with sorrow. "Can you wait for a few months?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. I _have_ to get them now. Can you figure out a way to come back, bring my stuff, and shoot back to your palace?"

"I am afraid that is out of the question. As soon as I arrive my friends and I must inspect the current guards – word comes there could be a threat from one of the other realms."

"An opened portal, according to him. Of course it's really a wormhole anomaly." Jane wound her arms around his waist from behind and winked at Natasha.

Natasha shook her head. "It's not good enough. You have to take me with you, and I'll find my own ride back. When are you leaving? Today?"

"I must leave anon…but you must be cautioned – such a trip is dangerous. There is exceeding unrest along the branches of Yggdrasil, according to all I hear." Thor covered Jane's hands with his own; his mighty fists swallowed the scientist's dainty fingers.

"It's all settled then. Call me when you're ready." Without waiting to hear his reply, Natasha nodded at Jane and left.

* * *

The palace at Asgard was surrounded by a double ring of guards; the interior was headed by Sif and a beautiful woman with long braids. Thor gave Sif a frank hug and bowed to the stranger; he introduced her to Natasha with an air of deference. "This is Amora," he said. "Her knowledge of magic keeps our defenses stronger than anyone could imagine. Asgard is indeed lucky to have such a powerful enchantress on our side."

Natasha already knew Sif; she liked her upfront nature and commitment to her craft. Before she could greet Amora, however, the fair-haired guard spoke to Thor. "Two garrisons are on their way to Jotunheim, as your father ordered," she declared. "Should be a mighty war with a valiant victory, if all goes well."

Thor nodded. "Well done. The city appears tightly guarded – congratulations to both of you."

"Is there a threat?" Natasha asked. "I thought Asgard was in the middle of a long peace, brokered at the command of the late queen."

"There are always threats when one holds all nine realms in one fist," Amora explained. Her eyes were as direct as Sif's gaze, as green as the moss around a forgotten well in the forest. "Sif and I must keep careful watch over all corners of the palace to ensure the All-Father's safety."

"Of course." Natasha looked at Thor. "Did you want to visit your father?"

"Are you here on a mere visit?" Sif interrupted. "My apologies, but Amora and I must clear all visitors from other realms first."

"That's fine." To display her non-threatening status, Natasha spread her arms. "Thor leant me a scroll belonging to Queen Frigga, and I was – well, to be honest, it's all I can think about. I'm intrigued by the magic within, and he promised me a few more so I can study them."

"Magic!" Amora peered closer. "Are you interested in enchantment? The queen was mistress of her craft."

"Yes, I am. I never thought it would be so interesting, but one look at the writings and I knew I had to find more."

Amora turned to Sif. "I could take this mortal to my rooms and teach her a bit of my ways if you can finish my shift."

"'Twould serve us all quite well!" Thor enthused. "Sif knows ever I thought of naught but my sword and steed when I was a lad – I fear I was a sore disappointment to my mother."

"Go with her," Sif offered. "I shall stay here, and perhaps the prince and I may visit the new welter cannon while you two prose over dusty parchments."

* * *

"Why are you interested in the scrolls?" Amora's eyes were wide-set, innocent, but Natasha could almost see the shrewd mind whirring behind that green gaze.

"Not for any nefarious purpose." Idly she stroked the edge of the original parchment Thor had given her. "When I read this I could see the possibilities behind the words, but I can't actually access them."

"And how did you feel when you read it?"

Natasha frowned. "Intrigued, I suppose, and puzzled…"

"That is not what I meant. Physically, how did you feel?"

"Oh. To be honest, I was excited. Exhilarated."

"Lusty?" Amora's question was baldly put, and her gaze never flickered.

"Yes." Natasha thought honesty would serve best.

"Ah." Amora seemed satisfied. "You have fró∂leikr." Without hesitation she moved closer, kissed Natasha on the mouth, and ran a pointed tongue over her lips. "Yes, I can taste it. It runs in your veins. This is unusual for a mortal – are you certain you aren't the byblow of one of Odin's visits to Midgard?"

Surprised by the kiss, Natasha couldn't help a short laugh. "Perhaps, although I doubt it. In any case I'm hardly your usual mortal."

Amora nodded again. "I will teach you what I can, although you must not expect fire from your fingertips, nor snakes crawling over the stones to your command. We can explore ways to harness the fró∂leikr in your body, but you must be very careful of not allowing it to take over and rule your passions or your instincts. You _must_ learn to control it."

The words echoed dimly in Natasha's mind. She could seek the knowledge that hung just out of reach, access the power sensed by the fireplace. She kept her features blank and agreeable, but under her catsuit her thighs trembled with desire.

* * *

Loki kept his fingertips on the wall to guide him; the tunnel was black as the swirling waste in the center of Jotunheim during the starless nights of mána∂r. The breeze he noticed before intensified, tickling his nose with the scent of roasting meat, fresh bread, and young skin.

It had been a long time since his sketchy breakfast - a quick meal of stolen crusts and discarded crumbs - and his stomach rumbled at the smell of food. But beyond that his hungers were truly awoken by the scent of flesh warmed by a fire, and he pictured his firebird seated cross-legged at the hearth with red curls tumbling over her neck.

The tunnel wound on and on with twists and turns so jagged it felt he should have been headed back into the room he had just left. As he journeyed Loki mapped out a perfect plan of the path in his mind, and he saw it was an impossible tunnel: one that turned in on itself in strange ways and made his head buzz with some unknown sensation. Perhaps it was power, and he felt his imagination awaken, entranced by the strange place.

After a long time of darkness, stone, and hunger, Loki started to sense he neared something. He turned a corner, and a long beam of orange light pierced the corridor; along with the gleam came murmuring voices and the crackle of a small fire. He edged closer and the glow brightened; cautiously his bare feet stepped on the cold stones of the passage. If there were beings on the other side of the wall, he wanted to see who they were before announcing his presence and starting – what? A war? A sortie?

He had no idea what was about to happen, and Loki's prodigious curiosity pricked him forward until he stood flush with the end of the secret passage he had found. It was another barrier, and the boulders looked incredibly old, as though they had been there since forgotten times; unknown symbols were etched into them, as well as drawings of sea serpents and dragons. He felt the scratches in the rock and an electric thrill ran up his arms, making him think they had some magical purpose.

Those thoughts were interrupted by more voices. The unseen beings were on the other side of the stone wall, but how could he reach them? Was the passage merely a massive trick to drag him to a mysterious part of the Royal Tower?

Just as he was about to give up in disgust and return to the attic room, Loki discovered a tiny hole in the wall. He applied one eye to it and peeped through – and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Two women sat in a fire lit room, surrounded by books and candles. Their heads nearly touched as one spoke in a low voice, moving slender hands to make her point.

The speaker was unlike anyone Loki had ever seen before. He had seen denizens of other realms, but never any female so – glittery. Her pale hair streamed down her back in long braids framing a perfect oval face, and the clothes she wore proclaimed some military background.

But it was the other who made his heart bound into his throat, the one who sat next to the blonde and listened intently to each word. She nodded as though she understood and asked a question in a voice so low Loki couldn't catch the words, although he strained to hear them as the other answered. As she tilted her head to hear the answer to her query, the flames in the hearth caught her face. Loki's lips parted, and he stifled a gasp – because he knew her, had seen her wild red hair and calm intelligence several times before.

She was his firebird.


	3. Invasion

**3 Invasion**

* * *

Amora explained they had to start with the basics, and so the lesson commenced with an explanation of how to read the spiky texts. Natasha gritted her teeth and dug in to understand the secrets within; after a few hours Amora declared her amazement at their progress. "It is as though you can sense what is written within although you cannot read it! Once you learn the runes and the language no one will be able to hold you back."

"I feel like it's speaking to me," Natasha admitted. Between her legs the swollen sex pulsed, and when Amora put one hand on her thigh she shuddered.

"You _must _learn to control the feelings inside you first, or we will get nowhere."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Natasha desperately tried to quell the desire launched by the magic in the scrolls. "Why am I reacting like this?" she asked. "Is it abnormal?"

"When I studied with Karnilla I spent the first few months in a state of orgasmic delight," Amora admitted. "As a result, I was forced out to learn on my own – she said my reaction was unseemly and unfit for an enchantress."

It _was _a bit embarrassing to feel such lust, although Natasha refused to admit to it. "That hardly seems fair."

Amora flicked her fingers in a sharply dismissive gesture. "There was nothing to be done about it. At the time I lost my temper, but over the centuries I learned to accept what was. In truth, if Karnilla and I now met I would best her in a duel."

The mere thought of being so close to all that magic brought Natasha straight to the edge, and she forced her mind back to the lesson and what she had seen of Asgard. "Do you use your enchantment to defend the realm?" she managed to gasp.

"Just so. Commander Sif considers me one of her most important weapons."

Natasha couldn't hold back a laugh. "How does that feel to be a weapon?"

Amora grinned. "You have met Sif. Naturally, anything one does with her is exciting. Now, let us return to study the five elements. I think you understand earth, wind, and air, I can see you have a firm grasp of fire, but as for aether, we need to work on that concept further."

"Indeed. Does the force exist within or without – or – ah – that is - both?" She stopped speaking, moaned, and clutched the table as her clit roiled with pleasure. With a sensation of pleasured torture Natasha's sex jittered, just short of a rolling, forbidden release.

* * *

Loki felt his jaw drop when he saw his firebird close her eyes and tilt her head back; it was patently obvious she had just about to experience an overwhelming bout of laviscious spending. _But how?_ The other female never touched her. Was she simply about to come on her own without even touching herself?

The mere thought of a woman so ripe and ready went straight to his prick. He felt the tip quiver; a silken rush of some unknown force blew back from the girl with red hair. Yes, he could feel some unknown magical force! and his penis spasmed with an uncontrollable, electric twitch. Loki squeezed his eyes closed and shot jets of seed onto the wall in front of him. Gods! It was as though he had just bedded her, even though a firm wall of stones stood between them; when he pictured sinking himself into her firm flesh the thrilling tickle hummed again at the base of his cock and he came once more just as fiercely.

Loki's heart galloped his chest; he had to prop one arm on the wall to stand upright and struggle to control his breathing. What had the silken sensation been? He had no idea, but he knew one thing: no other being had ever excited him so much simply at first sight. Abruptly an image of carrying her to his furs and holding her close all night came to mind, and he made an irreversible decision – no matter what the cost, he _had_ to have the firebird. Loki determined to make her his own – there was no other choice. Under his fingers the scratches in the wall squirmed as though they had some magic of their own. Loki caressed the pictographs and got the sensation of possibility behind them, as though they had a function. A purpose.

Yes. As he touched the sea serpent and the dragon, he clearly saw a door opening. It would open the way to her, to his firebird, if he could just figure out how.

Loki touched the dragon – no, that wasn't right. The serpent, then. Yes, it was the one he needed; he could feel it in his… oh. He could feel it in his prick. As he touched the serpent's coils and scales he felt himself hardening once more, like an arrow pointing the way to a magical opening.

The serpent first, then the dragon, followed by a squared spiral and a spear pointing west, the serpent again… His hands flew over the drawings and as he worked the possibility of the door grew in his mind until he realized he was just about to open the portal between him and the girl with flaming hair.

One brush of his fingers over the final pictograph would erase the wall as though it were no more than a soap bubble. Loki felt for the drawing, but just as he touched it a shout came from behind him in the passage.

"Runtling! What are you doing?"

_Helblindi._ Somehow Loki's brother had found the hidden corridor for himself. He marched forward, flanked with a garrison of the toughest guards from the tower – old-timers scarred from the battles between Svartelheim and Asgard.

Loki felt for the wall to try and stop what he had started, but it was too late. Under his fingers the stones melted away; he and Helblindi together faced the two women inside their study. Instantly his firebird stood and flexed her wrist; a series of flashes passed over Loki's head into the chests of the guards behind him. Loki felt for his knife, but he saw it would be too late – the blond woman was about to enact some strong enchantment. "Sif!" she cried as a ball of green flame appeared in her palm. "Sif, attend me!"

Helblindi pushed Loki to one side and pointed at the fair enchantress. A long spike of ice shot forth and enveloped her, encasing the woman as though she were a beautiful fish in a frozen lake.

Loki exclaimed as Helblindi prepared to take down the other. It was his firebird, his flame-haired vision, and he refused to let anyone else touch her. With a grunt of anger, he strode to her side, chilled her so she couldn't move and neutralized her wristlets with a controlled burst of ice. Once she was immobilized he slung her over his shoulder.

He was about to leave, but a strong bolt of instinct told him the papers she and the pale-haired woman were vital. His brother shouted, "Leave the slut! 'Tis our entry into the city of the accursed Aesir, you fool!"

None of them would survive if Loki didn't take the parchment scrolls to his realm – not him nor Helblindi, nor the pale enchantress, nor his firebird. He felt it with every sense in his body. Balancing the redhead on his shoulder, Loki swept the papers up in one fist.

Ignoring the hoots and insults from the Jotun guards, Loki sprang back into the passage and ran back towards his room, towards Jotunheim, towards the tower, panting fiercely in exultation.

Now everything was different. Now he had a prisoner, a pet of his own, his firebird. He would bring her back to his world, and she would be his mate.


	4. The Tower of Ice

**4 The Tower of Ice**

* * *

With her usual sudden exit from sleep, Natasha sat bolt upright and realized she was in a pile of furs as though she slumbered in a cat's nest. She nearly collided with the blue being responsible for her abduction; the Jotun sat beside the "bed" watching her intently. She knew any attempt to escape would have to be tackled with extreme delicacy. Apparently the blue race had access to magic controlling ice and temperature in ways she, as a human, simply couldn't understand. It had been his enchantment, if that were the word, to put her under and immobilize her weapons; hence her current predicament and kidnapping.

His eyes shifted as she sat forward, tracking each motion. There was fierce intelligence there, Natasha reasoned, and perhaps she could eventually use it to her advantage.

"Do you understand me?" she asked.

The black hair surrounding his face shifted as he dipped his neck slightly. "Yes," the being replied. "I understand."

Natasha blew out a long breath of relief. At least she wouldn't have to start off negotiations with language lessons. "What's your name?" she asked.

"I am Loki, prince of Jotunheim. You are my firebird."

_Firebird!_ _Interesting_. "Why do you say that?"

"You were inside the fire in the hearth of the attics. I saw you there, reading these." He lifted one fist; clenched inside were her scrolls of magic.

"My name is Natasha." Carefully she eased her legs out of the furs and realized she was naked; at some point someone must have undressed her.

"Natasha," he repeated. "Natasha." A smile, brilliant with white teeth, glittered over his visage. "I like it."

"Cool. Okay, so – Loki. I'm hungry. Got any food? And where are my clothes?"

"Clothes – why?" The smile disappeared, followed by a scowl. "You are now my mate. You do not need this thing." He held up her catsuit in one hand, and his nose wrinkled with distaste.

Natasha made her face blank as her brain kicked into high gear. He had taken her wristlets, guns, suit, and the scrolls. She had no boots. They were in a tower appeared to be made of ice… her situation was desperate but she would find a way out. Ice – she could start there. Delicately she hugged herself and shivered. "I'm cold, Loki. Those of us from Earth – from Midgard – we need to keep warm."

He tilted his chin, a signal of recognition. "Yes, this I also understand. I will make you a fire, and the guard will bring food. You – stay."

As he turned to the fireplace, Natasha felt her lips curl with amusement. Apparently she was some sort of pet, to be treated with care but perhaps not much respect; she could use that against him as well. Pets had claws – she would show him just how sharp hers were.

* * *

After a meal of small black berries along with what tasted like salted bacon and smoked salmon, Natasha drank the water Loki gave her in a cup. It was excellent, cold enough to hurt her teeth, fresher than anything she had ever tasted, and slightly effervescent. Once she was done, he handed her a small flask and indicated she should try it. The contents were minted and highly alcoholic; even Natasha had to gasp at the burn on her tongue. Her system would process it quickly, but perhaps it would affect him faster? She licked her lips and held it out, noting he copied her gesture instantly with a slender, pointed tongue. Perhaps she could win his trust before long.

After the sharing the drink, Loki carefully withdrew the scrolls and held them out to her. "What are they?" he demanded.

"Scrolls." Just the sight of the parchment made her thighs tremble with desire.

"I know that much, Natasha." Danger smoldered in Loki's red eyes. "Do not treat me as a child."

She held up her hands in tacit apology. "I meant I really don't know that much about them. Amora – the enchantress your buddy froze when the Jotnar smashed into our chamber – had just started to teach me what they meant."

Loki waved the thought of Amora aside. "And what did you learn?"

The fire he had lit in the tiny hearth crackled, and she sighed to feel its warmth on her skin. The fur blankets were soft, and some artisan had lined them with a material much like silk; such luxury was completely unexpected in Jotunheim, if she had ever thought of the realm at all. "Not much," she admitted. "I don't think I had the gift of…"

His dark head leaned very close to hers. "Gift of what? What was it?"

"Magic," Natasha said. Probably it would mean nothing if she told him what was within the ancient parchment. He would never be able to actually work enchantment since his only available teacher was Natasha herself, a befuddled neophyte without the slightest idea of how the writings in the scrolls actually worked.

"Yes." Loki grinned again, and his cheeks dimpled in a way that made him attractive in a strange, alien manner. "Magic. I suspected something hidden lay within the writings. You will teach me what you know of these scrolls."

"I really don't know much, but…" Natasha shrugged. It would be a way to gain some of his trust, a tie between them. Besides, she was stranded in a room of ice within an unknown world – she had to grasp at any possibility for escape. "Very well, but you can't expect much."

"'Expect much'. What does that signify?"

"Never mind. You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

"Amora!"

The shout seemed to come from very far away. The enchantress was lost in a land of solid snow, of howling waste and icy wind. She put up one hand to shield her eyes and peered into the dark; far off huge figures moved with a purpose, heading in her direction.

"Amora!"

She whirled and ran in the direction of the call, away from the moving shadows in the snow. Her boots were built for battle on stone and field, not ice, and several times she slipped. Amora's skin quickly grew numb under the onslaught of frost, and it was difficult to make her legs actually work.

"Amora…this…take my…" The shouts seemed to recede. Was she going in the wrong direction? Perhaps it no longer mattered, in any case. The enchantress tried to summon up a fire, but her magic had fled, leaving her completely vulnerable to the wintry land.

Both knees gave out in the same instant, and she folded in a quick surrender. Death would come quickly in that environment, and Amora prayed she would meet it head-on with her eyes open in one final act of courage. She had nothing else.

"Amora…you…finest enchantress…in all nine realms…"

The witch blinked. It was true, no other enchanter could eclipse her. The cold had to be freezing her mind; why else would she merely accept such a ridiculous end? With one supreme effort she raised her hand, pointed at the ground, and muttered a few words through chattering teeth. A tooth of flame shot up and was instantly extinguished; she hid her dismay and tried again.

The fire caught, held. Carefully Amora added more fuel to the flames. They burned higher, and after a bit she could feel them prickle against frozen skin. The heat became a furnace, needling her with painful pricks as sensation returned to her skin, and she cried out even as she hated herself for yielding to the pain.

"Amora…"

* * *

The enchantress gasped. She was no longer in a frozen wasteland, nor were there dark monsters trundling towards her fire. Instead she lay in a huge bath of warm water looking up into Lady Sif's eyes. "Stars," she muttered. "They look like stars."

"Hallucinations," a male voice declared. "The cold affected her more deeply than we thought."

"Thank you, brother. You may leave now." Sif huffed with impatience, and Amora watched through her lashes as Heimdall exited the room in silence. When the door clicked shut behind him, Sif picked up a large sponge, doused it with water, and carefully held it to Amora's chest. "Is it too warm? Does this hurt?"

"On the contrary, it feels wonderful - don't stop. I feel as though I'll never be warm again." A bout of shivers wracked Amora's body, and Sif added steaming liquid to the bath.

"It may take a while for you to truly come back – you were completely encased in ice as though held in winter's coffin."

Amora sat up, splashing Sif as she recalled what had occurred earlier. "Jotnar!" she cried. "Within the palace! I must stop up the entrance – we must seek where they have gone – have you evacuated – what of the prince?" Her questions spilled out like hot water from a jug.

"Peace, enchantress. We have driven the scum from the palace – I slaughtered several guards myself, and Fandral relieved the large fellow of a few fingers. 'Twould have warmed your heart to see him in action. But, alas, the runt carried off the mortal you worked with before we could stop him."

"Natasha?" Forgetting her chills, Amora climbed out of the bath. Bubbles streamed down her nakedness, and quickly Sif wrapped her in a towel. "I will secure the opening the accursed giants found, but I will make it open only to my command. When you are ready, Lady Sif, we shall ride, find Agent Romanov, and return her to Asgard."

Sif showed her teeth in a feral grin of pure joy. "I shall look forward to slaying more of the thieving shites at your side." She settled the towel more firmly around Amora, and her eyes flashed with blood-thirst.

The last of the bone-chill disappeared from Amora's body as she looked into those starry depths and imagined fighting next to Sif's slimness in tightly-fitted armor. "Yes," she murmured, "we shall carry out the quest together. I, too, shall look forward to it."


	5. Violence and Magic

**5 Violence and Magic**

* * *

"You said the branches of Yggdrasil were in chaos," Sif reminded Thor. "Could such a disturbance create a passage between Asgard and Jotunheim?"

Amora interrupted. "Absolutely. The monster who kidnapped Natasha must have discovered the anomaly and used it to stage a revolution against the throne."

"Sounds about right," Thor frowned. "Except the Jotun didn't bother with the throne – he disappeared as soon as he immobilized the agent."

"Who can tell what these Jotnar are thinking? They are mindless creatures with no motivation or intelligence." Amora's snort rivaled Sif at her most scornful.

"Perhaps, but we should be prepared in any case. If there is another attack, I don't want another of our top guards frozen or skewered with a blade of ice. I shall go and make preparations now." Thor nodded at the two women and left, his footsteps echoing through the huge war room.

"It never would have happened if I hadn't been concentrating on the magic lesson. Natasha was an interesting student, and she captured my attention." Amora covered her eyes with one hand.

"We must make certain it never occurs again. I'll never forget the way you looked when I found you covered with ice. Even when you were thawed out you were …" Sif stopped.

"I was what?"

The warrior shook her head. "I didn't think you would come back when you succumbed to the frost magic."

"I have never succumbed to frost magic, and I don't plan on starting now! Remember that, Sif, before you accuse me of weakness. I'faith I pity the next Jotun who tries that particular trick on me again – he will find he is missing his balls at the very least."

"Accused you of weakness! When did I ever do so?" Sif protested.

"It is the nature of the word 'succumbed'." Amora crossed her arms; the entire affair had been a blot on her reputation, one she wished to erase by being vigilant and strong as possible in the future. The fact of all the Aesir it was Sif to find her in such a weakened state didn't exactly help matters.

"Obviously you are bent on finding a quarrel – choose someone other than me to vent your spleen." Sif picked up her sword, left the room without another word, and Amora was left to curse her own bad temper.

* * *

"I need clothes. The first thing you need to know about me is I refuse to lie in bed all day twiddling my thumbs."

Loki poked at her discarded catsuit with distaste. "But this is so big. So long." He smoothed his own garment, a length of fur hanging between his legs; the prince wore nothing else except stiff armbands over his forearms.

"By that you probably mean it will cover my boobs and butt? Well, buddy, that's sort of the point." Natasha held out her hand, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his face. She refused to back down.

The Jotun prince tilted his chin in a haughty manner and looked at her with severity. "I will bring you clothes," he acceded, "but not these. Something more fitting."

Catsuit in hand, Loki left the room; an instant later she heard the locks on the outside slide home. Instantly Natasha hopped out of the pile of furs and paced the chamber; a steady draft puckered her skin with cold, and the floor was freezing. She ignored her discomfort and poked in the corners and under the bed, hoping to find something she could use as a weapon. Beyond the scrolls from Asgard, there was nothing.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside in the hall. As a last resort, Natasha picked up one of the scrolls; it seemed magic was her only option – and a major longshot at that. She hid her dismay when the locks popped off and fell onto the floor. A larger, more muscled version of the prince stood in the hall, lusty grin bearing white teeth. "Are you the runt's pet?" he said in a harsh, graveled voice.

"I'm no one's pet," Natasha shot back. "And as soon as my friends on Asgard – not to mention Midgard – discover I'm here, your entire tower is toast."

"Spirit. I like that." Without hesitation the huge Jotun removed his loincloth to reveal an immense, erect penis. He tossed his garment aside, marched forward, and fell on top of her on the bed. "Spread your legs for me, mortal wench," the being demanded.

"Fuck off!" Natasha managed a few punches to his throat and got her knee in his groin; with a muffled exclamation he swung his arm back and hit her across her face. She absorbed the blow and used its force to shrimp out, thrust with her legs, and roll from under his body; once free she crouched, ready to attack. The titan shouted with rage and launched himself at her. Natasha avoided the arc of his blow, swept his legs from under him, and pushed him back so he landed with a crash on the stones.

She had no time to congratulate herself; Loki himself strode into the chamber screaming in wordless fury. Quicker than her sight could process, a dagger of ice formed in one hand and he slammed it straight into the titan's chest. "Leave my pet alone – she is my mate! _Mine!_"

Although the blow looked deadly, the huge Jotun shook Loki off and rose to his feet. "You dare challenge me, whelp? I'll rip off your balls and stuff them down your throat!" The only response was another swipe with the dagger at the large being's eyes. Blood (red after all, Natasha noted) coursed down his face. He bellowed in pain, using a series of what sounded like extremely rude curses, and pounded out of the room.

"And stay out of our bedchamber, Helblindi!" Loki slammed the door shut and turned to Natasha. His eyes were redder than ever; rage seemed to course out of him. "Mine," he growled, and swept her up into his arms. She was deposited on the bed; before she could gather herself for another series of punches, Natasha found her wrists and ankles bound with the same cold spell as before.

"Wait. You don't want to do this…" Her words were cut off as Loki pounced on her. His teeth dug into her neck and one powerful thigh spread her legs apart. He palmed her breast easily, and when she protested again he covered her mouth with his other hand.

Loki's face was contorted with anger and something else – it seemed as though he was in the middle of a haze of desire and nothing could bring him out of it. "Mine!" he shouted again. "You are mine!"

Natasha managed to bite one thumb, and he stopped. The red eyes gleamed with lust, and she framed his face to speak directly to him. "If you take me, it is against my will," she said as clearly as she could. "Are you a rapist?"

Heavy breaths rattled his chest, and he shook his head. "You do not understand. Helblindi will return with a garrison of guards, hold you down, and they will all have you one after the other. You will become his pet, and he will show you none of the care I have. Do you see?"

"I still don't want…"

"No." Loki brought his face so close she could taste his breath – cool, with an undercurrent of pine needles. "You don't understand at all. Natasha, I watched his last pet die. She killed herself by sitting by the window rather than suffer his lust any longer. If I take you now, it marks you as mine. No one else will be able to bother you including Helblindi, that pig-dog of a whore."

With a sudden movement he released her wrists and ankles from the cold spell, whatever it was. Loki went to the hearth, picked up two small items, and returned to Natasha's side. "The flints," he said. "I got them from her – Helblindi's pet. She was an elf-maiden, and far too slender and delicate for such a forsaken place as Jotunheim. These stones brought me the flames where I first saw your image, and I simply had to steal them from her. I didn't mean for her to die." He hesitated and added in a lower voice, "I should not like to see such a thing happen to you."

Natasha frowned. His change of manner was so complete it made her suspicious. Was Loki just as masterful at trickery and deceit as she was herself? There was no time left to wonder; the loud steps sounded outside the room once more. Helblindi had returned, probably with a garrison of Jotnar. "Fuck it," Natasha said, and she pulled Loki in for a long, deep kiss. His surprised grunt turned to a muffled, gratified hum. Long fingers wrapped her thighs and drew them either side of his slender hips. Perhaps he wasn't as large as Helblindi, but Loki was certainly no runt where it mattered. She felt the erect length of him on her belly as she dragged her fingers through his long, black hair and tasted his cool breath in her own mouth.

The entrance burst open once more; Loki and Natasha both turned to see his brother flanked by several guards. When Helblindi's red gaze fell on them together on the furs, his eyes blazed; in order to seal the deal, Natasha deliberately reached for Loki's hand, placed it on her breast, and locked her heels behind his back. "Get out," she said pleasantly. "We're busy."

Loki grinned. "Yes, we are."

Helblindi exploded with a long, garbled string of Jotun curses that, she supposed, roughly translated to 'What the bloody hell?' Loki interrupted with a savage shout of his own, the equivalent of 'Fuck off, you stupid asshole.' Helblindi slowly withdrew and slammed the door. His footsteps could be heard outside; they died away and left them in silence.

"We really need a better door," Natasha said.

Loki gasped and began to shake; after a few moments she realized he was laughing. "Stealing you was the best decision I ever made," he said.

"I'm not quite convinced yet."

"Oh, Natasha." He rubbed his sex against her and bit one shoulder with a sudden strike, like a snake going for the kill. "You will be."

"No, I…" She meant to add the ruse was over, they didn't need to go any further, but it was too late. Loki covered her mouth with his and licked her tongue, teeth, and palate; his large hands pushed her knees up and he slid her onto his erection in one mighty thrust. He was cold inside her, although not painful. She tried to struggle, but her body seemed to be betraying her; Loki's smooth member was like a glass dildo and rubbed against the very spots she sought out when she pleasured herself. God, when was the last time it felt so good?

Natasha closed her eyes and fought the wave of desire rolling through her. She refused to – ohhhhh. It was sick, it was disgusting, it was – ohhhhhh.

It wasn't her fault, or so she told herself. After all, the past few days she had spent chasing elusive, magical orgasms. Her clit, set free at last by the huge prick inside her, fluttered and pulsed like a tiny heart. God, it was delicious. "Wait," she managed to get out.

"No, no more waiting." He stood suddenly from the bed with her still impaled on him and wrapped his arms around her; somehow he was able to thrust into her standing up. "Put your mouth on mine, again – I like that."

"What, kissing?"

Loki paused, panting against her neck. "Kissing? Is that what it is called?"

"Loki, have you had sex before?" Natasha wondered if she were deflowering a virgin; he was certainly very good at it if he was.

"Sex? Of course. But never the kissing thing."

"Jesus." She couldn't help giggling. Never would she have guessed she would be a Frost Giant's first kiss.

Curious, she licked his lower lip; instantly he did the same to her, purring with pleasure. "More." His lips parted, and he slid his tongue over hers, lapping her mouth like a cat with cream.

Natasha had withstood many things, but the sight of Loki experiencing such pleasure from her kisses made her come oh, so close. Her juices coated her thighs, and she could smell her own arousal. It was impossible to hold back, and with a cry into his mouth she felt the sharp, stinging ecstasy of a long-withheld orgasm.

"Oh," she cried. "Oh. Oh."

Loki shouted, fell back on the furs with her underneath, and pummeled her with his hips. His teeth nipped her neck; she would have a huge bruise on her throat later. The cold inside was replaced with warmth; she was pretty sure he had just released into her. After an endless moment of him straining against her, he collapsed on her chest.

The Black Widow waited for him to move, and at last she had to push him off her. "Why did you do that?" he demanded. "I want to do it again."

"You got rid of your douche brother – we're done here," she said coldly.

"Done? What do you mean? You are my mate."

Natasha reared back and spat into his face. "I am _not_ your mate, asshole. You stole me – it won't happen again."

Loki made a sound of disgust, vaulted off the bed, and marched to the door. There he stopped, picked up something off the floor, and tossed it to her. "Clothes," he said. "I brought them for you, as you requested. No one else will bother you – I shall make certain of it."

The door slammed behind him, and she was left alone.


	6. The Ice Dance

**6 The Ice Dance**

* * *

Several days passed – at least, Natasha thought they did. It was difficult to tell since the skies visible from her narrow window were constantly dark and filled with blowing snowflakes; in any case, she thought days and nights were probably longer in Jotunheim.

Loki never reappeared, and after a while she allowed herself to relax. With nothing else to do she took out the scrolls and studied them. The magic was clearer than ever – one section described sources of power, another the creation of illusions such as snakes or even mirror reflections that could appear or disappear at the wish of the enchanter. Natasha longed to be able to enact the spells; they quivered like bright coals just at the edge of her vision, but when she tried to reach them they faded.

Naturally the study of the scrolls brought her former problem roaring back with greater force than ever. Despite her recent bout of sex with the Jotun prince, Natasha felt herself shiver with need – and not only between her legs. The tips of her breasts, her thighs – her entire body shook with desire, and as much as she tried to suppress those longings as Amora had urged her to do in another realm, it seemed impossible. At last she threw the scrolls aside and put herself through a long series of workouts to try and exorcise the lust inside. However, as much as she kicked, punched, whirled, and stretched, the tiger of wanting roared in her blood and refused to be tamed.

* * *

"You will come downstairs with me tonight." Loki opened the door and spoke without a greeting; his thin face was severe. Probably he was still furious with her.

Natasha hopped up at once and nodded agreement. She was tired of the room and about to lose her sanity if she had to stay longer; furthermore any excursion would give her more intel about the tower of ice and the realm, not to mention the Jotnar themselves. "Ready," she declared.

His lips quirked with momentary amusement. "Not like that. You must dress with ceremony. Tonight is the Ice Dance, and there will be many important guests. All bring their mates or pets, and I…"

"… And you are bringing me," Natasha finished for him. "Aren't I lucky? Go on, tell me what I have to change into."

He produced a heavy box made of what looked like dark iron and put it on the bed; with both hands he lifted the lid. Inside were long chains of silver interspersed with black stones. Carefully he lifted one line of links out and held it up – a necklace, Natasha guessed, with a round circle at one end. "Don't tell me," she began, pointing to the collar. "Are you really going to put that on me?"

Loki didn't answer. Already he had produced a key; twisting it in some tiny, unseen lock he opened the wide collar, snapped it around her neck, and relocked it. The chains hung from the necklet between her breasts in a loop long enough to droop over her navel; the metal was cold enough to make the breath hiss in her throat. There was another for her waist, a wide belt studded with more of the black stones.

"Cold?"

"What do you think?" Natasha snapped. "Of course it's cold." She took a breath and settled herself, remembering she had to play along. If he wanted to parade her like a Fifth Avenue debutante's fox terrier in front of the court, she had to pretend to enjoy it. "Do you like the way they look on me?" She put her hands on her waist; the stance made her breasts under the thin band of fur stick out.

"Very much." His voice was husky, but it seemed Loki didn't want to waste time. He had her sit on the bed and added a set of armbands, one above each elbow, as well as anklets and several toe rings. These he pushed carefully onto her feet before he allowed her to stand.

She was the perfect recreation of a slave girl; obviously some fantasies were universal to all realms. "Just add a metal bra and you can call me Princess Leia," Natasha muttered.

Loki held her by the elbows, a light touch to inspect her appearance, but her words made him snap to attention immediately. "Princess? Which princess is this?"

"Oh." Natasha made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "She isn't real – just a character in a movie – a tale, you know. A saga."

"You will relate this tale to me." He slid back the bolts on the door and guided her over the threshold; the icy floor was murder on her bare feet. With dismay Natasha saw a long staircase with steps coated by ice and blowing frost. Loki didn't hesitate; he picked her up in his arms and started the descent. "The tale," he reminded her.

"Right – um, it's a long one, so…" She tried to recall the order of events in the Star Wars movies. As he carried her down the steps, his eyes intent on hers, she recounted the story of the rebel alliance and their fight against the Empire. Loki's breath quickened on her neck, and a glow kindled in his eyes.

"Revolution! And against such odds. It reminds me of our own circumstance here in Jotunheim – we had our most precious relic taken from us, Natasha, by forces we could not fight. They used magic to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters, the source of our energy. Without it, our realm is dying…"

Perhaps he realized he had said too much. Loki stopped talking and his face became severe once again, almost stoic. Natasha's mind whirled with everything she had just learned – so the civilization holding her captive was on the brink of destruction. She could use that knowledge to bring the Jotnar to their knees.

But now that she knew, did she want to become the Midgardian equivalent of Pizarro and do such a thing?

* * *

Two huge Jotnar sat at one end of the room growling and shouting at each other; Loki shot them one scathing look and carried Natasha to the other end of the table where he slid into a seat of ice and placed her on his lap.

"Tell me more of the Death Star. How did the Rebel Alliance defeat it?" he demanded.

"My memories are a bit hazy, but the hero – Luke – was instructed to rely on his instincts, not the machinery guiding his ship."

"Instincts," Loki repeated. "Luke. His name is like mine, yes?"

Natasha surprised herself by giggling. "Yes, I suppose it is." She jerked her head up when Helblindi slid into the seat next to them. "I thought you injured your brother," she whispered in Loki's ear.

"'Twas a mere scratch, but if he attempts to take you again I shall slit his throat."

The words were lightly said in contrast to their heavy import. Natasha heard the threat against the background of the two large beings at the far end arguing in a harsh, unknown tongue. Helblindi sighed and stretched out long legs; one foot brushed her furs and Loki struck out instantly with his fist. At once Helblindi hit back, and she was dumped unceremoniously on the ground as the two crouched, snapping at each other with teeth bared. Their shouts echoed in the huge chamber, and after several minutes the two large Jotnar slouched forward; the biggest one knocked Helblindi's head into Loki's skull and shouted the Jotun equivalent of "Start fighting again during dinner and I'll knock you into next week!"

"I hear, Farbouti." Rubbing his forehead, Loki picked up Natasha from the floor, settled her on his lap once more, and thrust one hand under the fur covering her breasts – probably his version of pissing on a tree to claim ownership. A shivering servant scuttled forward and placed an iron trencher filled with meat by their chair. With one last warning grunt to Loki and Helblindi, the two large beings returned to their own seats, red eyes filled with simmering violence.

"Who are they?" Natasha asked.

"My parents." Loki picked up a shred of meat and chewed.

At once a feeling of deep melancholy came over her. Natasha had been in many bar fights, revolutions, skirmishes – but always on her own terms. The dark, icy cavern and the violent inmates depressed her, and she felt she would never escape the ice and blood of Jotunheim.

In one far corner a musician began to play a drum, beating the instrument with a deep booming sound. Loki put down his meat, slid his hand over her thigh, and edged them forward in the seat they shared. The music, Natasha saw, was precursor to the Ice Dance he had promised; a procession of Jotnar entered, all wearing the slim bands of fur prevalent in the realm around their hips. Three were obviously female, two were large males, and it was impossible to guess the sex of several others.

The dancers paraded around each other, and slowly Natasha realized they traced elaborate figures, decahedrons and inverse polygons of movement. Any mathematician would have been fascinated by the fractal patterns they drew, and she forgot her momentary depression. The drum sounded one last boom, and the dancers raised their arms. A slim column of ice shot up from each palm, and the blue spires connected, twined around each other, wove into an impossibly lovely crystal.

A collective growl of appreciation rose from the audience, _if you could call it that,_ Natasha thought. Loki wore a look of feral joy; he cupped her chin and tilted it up.

Carefully the performers balanced their icy creation above their heads and circled underneath it, adding layers to the already complicated frozen cone. Natasha had never seen anything so savage and lovely in her entire life. The dancers shouted in unison, and they tossed the ice sculpture to the roof; it shattered and fell on the assembly as crystals of blue snow. She laughed and held up her face, tasting the delicious frost as it fell on her hair and eyelashes; under her furs Loki's hand found her wet warmth and stroked her in an insistent rhythm. His intelligent eyes bored into hers. "I want to leave now. You will teach me magic from the scrolls, and we will talk more about the Skywalker saga."

"This is a formal dinner – or at least the Jotun version of one. Are you certain you want to walk out on your brother and your parents?"

"Now," he repeated.

As Loki carried her to the huge staircase of snow and ice, Helblindi's head snapped to watch their exit. His eyes never left them, never wavered.

* * *

The table was more of a device than actual furniture, a complicated machine that divided into 64 squares at Amora's command. Exhaustion forced black spots at the corners of her vision, but she shook off her weariness and tried again. The pattern wouldn't come out right, no matter how many times she tried it as she crouched like a panther over the stones in front of the wall where the Jotnar had dared to enter Asgard. Once they left, the wall closed behind them and nothing she did could reopen the entry.

Amora gathered the Norns in her fist and cast again. She was so close, and yet the answer teased her, just out of reach. With ebbing patience she moved them in the ordered files – Kenaz hopping like a frog, Perthro oozing up the side like an escaping thief in the night. Yes, that was it. Excitement burned her throat as she herded them to the wall so she could open it…

"Damnation!" The progression collapsed as she ran out of option. The enchantress stood, smacked the table, and prepared to flip it against the wall, smash the delicate machinery…

"You will be sorry if you do that." Sif stood by her side; the warrior must have entered, unheard, at some point. She held out a plate of bread and fruit, and Amora shook her head.

"I am so close. Why can I not find the proper progression? It is as though the very stones of the wall tease me with their weight!"

"I'll be certain to have Volstagg relieve himself on them later for doing so." Sif's voice filled with dry amusement, and her hand closed over Amora's arm. "But eat first – you have worked without ceasing for two days. Sit on the bed and have some bread."

Amora allowed herself to be towed to the cushions; with a long sigh she lay back and waved away the food. "I have prepared everything else – invisibility spells for the army, warded shields to spell off the ice magicks – but I cannot get through one wall. One thin barrier of stone stands between us and victory."

"And I have heat cannons to shrink the damnable giants, once you do find the way." Sif cupped Amora's chin and forced a slice of fig, cool and sweet, between her lips. "Eat before I sit on your chest and force you."

Despite her weariness, Amora's breath stuttered in her chest. "Would you do such a thing?"

Sif raised one eyebrow. "Naturally! I…" She stopped as Amora licked a drop of nectar from Sif's fingers.

"Mm." Amora's good humor was restored as Sif lost her self-composure. "Delicious."

"Yes. Well. I must return to the heat-cannon – and eat make certain to eat all the bread or I shall …"

"Tie me down?" Amora winked. As Sif left, the enchantress let a long trill of laughter spray from her throat. She would eat the food Sif had brought, and sleep; the morrow would bring the answer she sought.

It simply had to. There was no other option.


	7. Center

**7 Center**

* * *

Natasha unrolled the scroll, the first one Thor had given her – it seemed ages ago already. Loki sat beside her on the furs and watched every movement with intense interest. "Why did you not teach me magic before?" he asked.

"What?" She squinted at the question, already lost in the feeling of magic from the unknown words on the parchment.

"I asked you to show me the scrolls the day we met, and you avoided my question. Why?"

Natasha took a long, deep breath and shook her head – she didn't want to talk about the desires that exploded in her belly when she thought or read about about magic. "You tell me what to do and I do it. Isn't how this works?" She wiggled the silver cuffs on her wrists at him for emphasis, the jeweled restraints he had placed there before the banquet.

"And yet I saw your face soften this night when we watched the ice dance together. Why is that?" His gaze was like a spear to her gut, a pin in the butterfly she kept hidden from everyone, even herself.

She settled the collar around her neck to give herself time to think; for some reason her intuitions told her to be honest with him. "Prince, I thought your society was violent, fierce, unprincipled – but I now see there's beauty in Jotunheim as well as savagery. When I watched the ice dance tonight, it … well, it touched me."

His red eyes were intent on her face. "Touched you," he repeated.

"Yes."

"Why did you spit in my face when we first lay together?" Loki didn't move when he asked the question, but Natasha sensed the simmering tension under his calm; something about the way the lines on his skin shimmered as though they could convey emotion, told her he had been surprised by her attack after they first lay together and perhaps hurt by it as well.

She crossed her legs, and the chains hanging from her collar clanked together over her breasts. "Look, you and I will have to come to an understanding. I've been in charge of my life for decades, and when you kidnapped me – no matter what reasons you told yourself at the time – it took away that control."

"But you are my mate."

"But I had no choice in it. If you had come to me in Asgard or even Manhattan and said, _Hey, wanna come to Jotunheim and hang out with me in my ice tower? and I'll fuck you every chance I get with my big blue schlong, _I might have jumped at the chance. But no, I got scooped up and dragged off as though I were the heroine of some dumb romantic fantasy."

"You _did_ choose me." His red eyes narrowed. "When we saw each other in the fire you wanted me then, and I wanted you. Perhaps you lied to yourself about it, but we were mated before we ever met in the flesh."

Natasha sat still, the anklets pressing into her flesh. Absently she noted the pain and discarded it. "Still, I…" she started to argue.

"Why did the ice dance affect you so?" he interrupted.

"I used to be a dancer. Well, at least I was in false memories – it's a bit complicated."

"What are false memories? You will explain this to me." Loki hooked his index finger through her belt and played with the chains hanging over her thighs idly.

"My mind was altered to believe I was a ballerina – a dancer, like the ones downstairs. I even remembered my breakthrough role – The Firebird."

Loki dropped the chains, surged forward to cup her face in his hands, and kissed her again and again on her eyelids, cheeks, neck, and lips. "But you are _my_ firebird! It was the first thing I thought when I saw your image in the flames."

Natasha moved away and reached for the scrolls. "Do you want to give this a try or not? And I suppose I have to warn you first these scrolls have a strange effect on me. Amora warned me about it, but I can't seem to move beyond my own desires. I suppose she wants me to attain a higher plane. I can see the possibilities of magic within the lines written here, but this …"

"Natasha." Loki interrupted her once more. "Your words make no sense at all. What are you trying to tell me?"

"Sorry." She tried again. "Whenever I try to read these scrolls it affects me physically – in my body, you know."

"Do you become ill?"

"No. It makes me…" Natasha fumbled for the right words; in truth she wished she hadn't brought it up. The minted liquor she had drunk with dinner seemed to have affected her more than she thought.

Loki grasped the loops of chain hanging from the collar still locked around her neck and pulled her closer so she leaned on his powerful thighs. "Just tell me."

"To be honest, when I read the scrolls it makes me want sex."

A slow smile spread over his face, and he closed the gap to kiss her gently. "But this is good – for me. I suppose it is why you wanted to avoid our lessons, little firebird. Together we will find the delight in the magic together and make the spells come alive with our sex."

"Loki, that won't work." Natasha pushed him off once more. "Amora said I _must_ suppress it if I want to create magic from those scrolls, although if I'm honest for once each time I look at the words my body goes crazy. It's like I can't control myself. And you don't know me, but control is what I _do_. I monitor my emotions, my breathing, my heart rate…"

"Natasha." He pulled her back into the circle of his arms and moved his lips to her neck. "Enough words. Could it be the scrolls are calling to you in a way this enchantress might not understand? Perhaps you need to give in to your instincts, to allow the feeling to run through your body, your veins, your skin, the way Luke Skywalker did in the saga you related to me." Abruptly he palmed one breast, licked her neck, and blew on it. "Let yourself experience the true gift of magic for once."

She tried to disentangle herself, but he pulled sharply on the heavy belt so she sat flush against him with her back against his chest, his breath in her ear. "Now," he repeated.

His violent insistence brought her close to the edge, and Natasha's hands trembled as she unrolled the scrolls. "This," she pointed to one line, "shows the user how to create a ball of light in her palm. I can see it so clearly, but I can't… ohhhh." Right on track her clit began to flutter with the now-familiar skirl of erotic desire from the written runes.

"Oh," Loki echoed. "Yes, I see it as well." He raised one hand, palm flat, and Natasha's eyes widened as a globe of green light flickered and appeared over his fingers.

"How did you manage that?" she gasped. "I've been trying for days. And you just – fuck, how did you do it?"

"You," he whispered in her ear. "You helped me do it. You pointed out the lines, and I was able to bring them to life."

Natasha squeezed her thighs together and panted as she tried to ignore the feelings surging through her. "This one intrigued me," she said when she was able to talk, pointing to another section written in green. "I'm pretty sure this spell changes the user's physical appearance…mmm. I, um, I wanted to try turning blue when I saw it – can you believe that?"

"Did you?" His hand cupped her forearm, gentle and firm. As she watched, the blue faded to ice, to pale flesh, paler than her own skin. Loki's hand slid to her shoulder, to her chin, and forced her to face him – the red eyes were replaced with green pupils, the lines on his skin no more; only the black hair remained, framing the elegant cheekbones, hawked nose, and cruel lips.

Bullets exploded in Natasha's bloodstream, shrapnel of want and magic all mixed up in a swirl of lust. She could feel the enchantment on his skin – hell, it was inside his bones – sparking like a downed wire in an ice storm, lethal and beautiful. Without giving herself time to think she spun and arced one leg over him so she sat in his lap to make it easier to plunge her fingers in his black hair, to cover his mouth with hers, to taste the cold lips, lick teeth and tongue. There was no way to get enough.

It was his turn to push her away. "Do you want me, little firebird?"

"Yes." Natasha tried to suppress her frantic breathing, the heartbeat she felt in her chest and her sex.

"Then you may have me, but only if you say you are mine."

"Loki…" Natasha thought of the inevitable ending to their story, the oncoming day when she would double-cross him to gain her freedom. Yet that receded under the snapping of magic between their skins, the great head of his prick rearing between her legs, the forbidden knowledge in his eyes.

"Tell me," he insisted. "Tell me you are my mate, and you may have me."

"Loki." Her heart stuttered in her chest. "I'm yours."

"You are my mate?"

"Yes!" She screamed as he picked her up and settled her with one fluid motion onto him, onto where he had once been purple-blue with desire, and now red with the illusion of human blood, where he had been cold once and now warm, so warm – no, hot with it…

Natasha flung her head back and sank onto him, experiencing each delicious inch. "Say it," Loki growled. "Tell me."

She could barely speak, and when he twisted beneath her to find a certain delicious spot inside, and when he teased her with such understanding pity and said, "That feels nice, does it not? Tell me, and I will do it to you some more," and she lost her mind and all control to shout she was his, she belonged to no one else, and it would always be that way, and those promises must have worked, because he thrust into her warm fluttering butterfly again and again until they both screamed with release.

* * *

In the circle of his arms, Natasha droused. She felt warm for the first time since her arrival in the frigid realm, and when she woke, eyelashes fluttering on his marble chest, she saw Loki's face turn blue. He shuddered and quickly turned pale once more; it seemed he strove to keep his assumed face.

"Listen. Doesn't that tire you out?" Natasha asked. "Take a rest, and let me see you as you really are."

"When I wore the skin of mortals just now you promised yourself to me. And you did not spit this time."

"Hey." She sat up and framed his face with her hands. "That had nothing to do with your physique and everything to do with my independence. You could wear black and pink zebra stripes for all I care as long as you keep fucking me like that."

Loki pushed her onto her back and hovered over her. "Are these words true?"

Natasha nodded slowly. "Yes, they are."

Slowly his skin turned blue, and his eyes regained their red color. One large hand cradled her head, and Loki kissed her as gently as snowflakes heralding an impending storm. "This word 'fucking' – what does it mean?"

"What we just did." Natasha couldn't help smiling.

"Yes. This?" A sly twist slished his engorged penis inside her once more, and she gasped and reared under him.

"Yes, oh yes."

"Fucking. I like this word."

"It is not a nice word, you understand – oh, baby, just keep doing that."

Loki suckled her throat, bit the pink tips of her breasts. "Only to use between us in our furs, is that right?"

Natasha got her legs over his shoulders, held his red gaze. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

His breath came heavy and quick; she felt it on her neck and tasted the pine scent of him – so alien and already familiar. She had made love thousands of times with countless lovers, many of them practiced at what they did to make her weak with pleasure. But none of them found such a crazy rhythm; instead of the usual in-out-in-out of sex, Loki slid out and out and then thrust with one strong push, teasing the spot until it felt her clit expanded between her lips, extended inside…

Oh. She would lose her mind with such intelligent fucking. It would never, ever be the same again.

Loki pulled her onto his lap, held her hips and swiveled her in strange figures; she could picture them – complex polyhedrons, figure 8's, all compounded by the exotic rhythms he insisted on. It made her pleasure increase and stay just out of reach, both at once. When she was certain she would lose her mind with desire he created a little green ball of light to glow between them, and that final touch of enchantment pushed her over the cliff where she fell, shrieking in ecstasy.

* * *

Much later, after several more bouts of lovemaking, Loki covered her carefully with the silk-lined furs. Outside the ice pattered on the windows. Natasha sensed a vengeful spirit nearby – Helblindi, probably, sulking in a dark passage as he listened to the sounds coming from their room.

Loki brushed those thoughts away as he gently moved the curls from her face. "You," he said. "You are my center."

She fell asleep too quickly and completely to wonder what those words meant.


	8. Darkness and Light

**8 Darkness and Light**

* * *

"Today we will follow the Skaði trails."

Natasha emerged from a blue dream fraught with ice magic and the possibility of limitless energy; she propelled herself to instant consciousness. It was one of her gifts, to be able to instantly desert the sweet confines of a dream for reality. Hope surged through her as she saw what lapped Loki's arms – the limp material of her catsuit. "Is this for me?" she asked.

"We will hurtle through the snow and ice today – but you need protection from the elements of my realm, little firebird." Gently he helped her up, held out the garment, and waited as she pulled it up over her hips. The feeling of the familiar Kevlar made her groan with pleasure as though she had regained her skin after being flayed.

There were boots to go with it made of leather and fur; also mittens and a peaked leather helmet. More furs wound over her legs and shoulders. As a final step, Loki unlocked the collar from her neck and stowed it carefully in the casket under their bed. He reached to lift her in his arms, but Natasha firmly shook her head. "No way, dude. I'm walking on my own now that I have shoes and actual clothes." Her head held high, she waited for him to unlock the door of their chamber before she negotiated the long, tortuous staircase of ice.

* * *

On the mountain, Loki created skis of ice for them both with his frost magic; the crystals clung to her feet and shins in a perfect casement. "They will take us down," he declared, "at great speeds."

Natasha tested the ice skis; they were surprisingly light and moved easily. The ice was more efficient than any binding available on Midgard, even better than the high-grade skis she used in the Soviet Olympics during one secret mission. "I'll need to cover my eyes, though," she cautioned. "I got optic wind-burn once, and I swore never again." Gently he placed his hands over her temples and blew on her skin. A fine film descended over the view of white broken by bands of mighty pines and cragged rocks – he had created an ice band, thin and strong, over her eyes. As she twisted to test her skis and the ice goggles, a flurry of what looked like huge Arctic foxes broke to their left and bounded over the snow; Loki laughed with her to watch the creatures navigate the rocks and snow wastes.

"Are you prepared?"

"Yeah. Bring it on." Natasha couldn't wait to feel snow under her boots, to move, to swerve under her own power. She had been locked in the gray tower for several days according to the calendar she etched in the rock behind their pile of furs; another bout of inactivity would have driven her insane.

Loki pushed off with his skis. Although the mountain was sharply angled, he drove straight down, never swerving to turn. It made sense – they had no poles, after all, but still it would take a great deal of nerve to handle such speed. Natasha pushed off and hurtled after him, and as her skis slid over the snow she sighed with delight. It was perfect for their run – the base was smooth as though recently groomed, slightly packed, and dry enough to part in front of their ice blades.

Trees whistled past her like digitized blips in a good hack job, and the crystals flung up from Loki's skis chilled her teeth. She realized she wore a manic grin; the sensation of movement and controlling her own destiny for the first time in days made her drunk with happiness. Natasha wanted to fling her head back and shout with savage joy, but she knew the sound waves could start an avalanche. Ahead Loki moved so fast she could barely see him. Her breath was snatched from her lungs; she had to suck in air in greedy gulps. The covering over her eyes protected her perfectly, the furs kept her warm. On her feet, the ice skis responded instantly, maneuvering easily around mogul hills and tiny cracks in the ice.

All too soon Loki stopped in a great swoosh of snow; Natasha stopped beside him and made certain her halt threw snow over his face. He laughed, wiped it off with one strong arm, and pulled her close to stand between his skis. A rare line of sun broke through the clouds to light the spot where they stood; Natasha tipped back her head and closed her eyes to enjoy the unusual warmth.

"Did you like that, little firebird?"

"Best ski run of my life. Go again?"

He nodded and stamped his feet to shatter his ice skis. "We will have to hike back up the mountain. I shall carry you on my back and create new skis for us at the top."

"Oh, no." Natasha shook her head in firm decision as she broke off her own skis. "I've had enough of being treated like a pet or a doll. Set the pace on our climb – I'll keep up."

* * *

Much later they tramped to a small structure on the crest of the hill. Loki told her it was a way house left for those who needed to stop and rest before the return to the ice tower. Inside Natasha pulled off her furs and sniffed. Dried meat hung in strips from long ropes, and bottles of dark liquid winked in the flames of the fire Loki lit for them. After the long day of skiing, her muscles were filled with a pleasant languor.

"We will stay here," he announced. He seized a couple of trenchers, filled them with meat, and took them to the table. "Bring us wine and we will drink to the snowy mountain we conquered today."

"Now you're talking my language." Natasha selected a bottle at random, uncorked it with her teeth, and took several pulls. It was the usual minted liquor, strong enough to make her breath catch. He took it from her and drank, his eyes closing with pleasure.

They were so hungry the meat tasted ambrosial. Several times Loki refilled the trenchers until Natasha declared she might explode. "Thanks for dinner," she said. "And the skiing – it was wonderful."

"And now, bed." Loki rose, pulled her hands to stand with him, and bent to kiss her.

"Loki…"

"I forgot – one moment." His blue skin paled until the other iteration of himself stood before her: black hair, green eyes, white flesh.

Natasha went on tiptoe and sought the dimple in the corner of his mouth. "I told you it doesn't matter what you look like. It's just – I expected savagery and violence, and yet here you have treated me to the best day of skiing I ever had. I know - Stockholm syndrome - but there's more to it than that. And then the magic…"

His pale hands pushed back her hair. "Yes, the magic. I brought the scrolls here – tonight we will work on them further."

At that she felt her lips curve. "Did you enjoy our last session?"

"Little bird, you know I did."

* * *

Loki spread his legs on the furs in the way house and beckoned for Natasha to sit between them; instantly she felt the snapping rush of magic through her clit. It seemed to grow stronger each time they played together, a true, inescapable force. "Can you feel it?" she gasped.

He reared under her, his hardness very evident. "You tell me."

"What – what are we going to do…" She meant with the scrolls; it was very obvious what they would do once their magic practice was concluded.

"Here." His finger traced a dark section at the bottom of the second parchment.

Natasha shivered. "I think this is more intense than the other spells. The green ball of light, your physical change – they were simple illusions. But this seems to be a doorway through the worlds into…" A bolt of pleasure shot through her body, so intense she nearly passed out.

"Yes. This is what I hoped." His arm gripped her waist tightly, and he stared intently at the words.

"Why? Is it so important?"

"Once Jotunheim was filled with light and sparkling energy. The ice dances occurred each night. We controlled the snows and even the trees did our will. But now the energy drains from our world, and we are dying."

"You think this will help?"

"Yes."

Natasha nodded and translated a few lines from the scroll; as he repeated the words she sensed an obscure fire burning between them. "Oh, Loki…" Natasha arched up and felt desperately for his hand; she pushed it between her legs. "I need you to touch me, just there, do it now. Please. Please."

He growled and slipped his fingers inside, bit her neck, pinched one nipple. His feet slid up the inside of her legs, sending bolts of lightning squirming straight to her clit. "Tell me," Loki insisted. "Tell me, Natasha."

"This line here – I think it says something about traveling from realm to realm. There are secret…secret…paths…Oh! I need you!" She couldn't talk any longer.

"Let me help the magic come out." Loki pulled her up, twisted her body in his powerful hands, and held her up to his mouth. His tongue slipped into her wetness, swirled over the swollen bean of her clit, rolled inside, one stripe up, around, spiraled… if he had been good at fucking, his mouth was inspired. Natasha bucked as though she rode a stallion; a scream was ripped from her throat as she came. He licked her through it as though he knew what was too sensitive and what needed more touching.

"You feel different," she panted in his arms. "More intense. We should be careful with this one."

"We will survive this. We may even enjoy it." Loki's head bent over hers, and he kissed her. It started gently, became passionate; it seemed he concentrated on every atom of her lips and tongue, teeth and hands, hair, eyes – but more than that, each thought swimming through her mind, desires, fantasies, hidden wants she didn't want to admit even to herself. The dark magic circled between them and edged violence into the act, but Natasha liked it, and she thought Loki liked it as well. When she bit his shoulder fiercely to make his breath hitch, and when she pulled his hair back so she could savage his neck, she was sure of it.

"A little wild one," he murmured into her hair. "Swim in the darkness and lose control with me."

* * *

After he lay with one fist under his head, staring at the wood ceiling above them. Natasha traced the blue lines on his chest, wondering. "What are your plans?" she asked.

"The Casket lies under the palace in Asgard. We will find a new path there, you and I, now that I can move between the realms with this new, dark magic. It will require stealth, but once we bring the sacred relic to Jotunheim my world will realize the despised runt has saved them." He turned swiftly and captured her fingers, brought them to his lips. "This is all because of you. The magic you have brought me, Natasha, will lead my realm out of darkness. You are like the shaft of light spilling over our faces at the bottom of the mountain when we arrived at the bottom on the trails." She smiled at his fancy, and the words tumbled from his lips. "Yes, you are that light for me. I feel as though a great evil has passed – you have no idea how much I put up with as the smallest of the Jotnar. I was an easy target for everyone, and Helblindi most of all…"

"Hey. This isn't about fratricide, is it? You're not just blinded by brotherly competition, I hope, because if so you can count me out."

Loki moved to lie over her and cupped her face. "He stole everything," he hissed. "He took my birthright, my weapons, my place. Each dawn brought new torture at his hands, insults, kicks, blows, a thousand petty privations you can't even imagine. I will not even speak of some things he inflicted – they are too disgusting to say aloud, involving blood and worse. But I could have born it if he had not made an attempt to fuck you. For this I will seize his power and what he considers his throne, and the ages will recall my name while his bones molder to dust."

His anger made him harden against her belly, and wordlessly Natasha drew him down, kissed him deeply, parted her legs. As he slid inside she moaned with the luxurious pain of their combined lust, for such beautiful pleasure could never, never last.

* * *

Amora knew the instant it happened – someone had found the way to navigate between the branches of Yggdrasil and the nine sacred realms. Incensed, she pulled on a simple shift and her leather boots, pushed the door to her chamber open with a crash, and strode to the turrets of the palace. There she lifted her palms, let loose a long bolt of power, and shouted wordlessly into the night sky.

She had no idea what time passed. Only a hand on her shoulder stopped her; she twisted into an attack crouch to find Sif behind her, sword drawn. "Do not release your temper on me, enchantress," she warned.

"The path is closed, and I cannot open it." Amora paced the small court between the spires, tossing her hair off her face. "There is another who now has the equal of my powers, and any moment it could arrive here in Asgard. I know this – I can feel it. And I can do nothing!" She reared back and howled with fury.

"Amora. Amora! Listen!" Sif shook her. "Think. What did the Jotnar take with them?"

"You already know. They kidnapped Natasha – my own student!"

"Anything else?"

Amora's breath heaved as she looked into Sif's eyes, so clear and intelligent. "I – yes. The scrolls we worked on together also disappeared." Realization coursed through her, and she seized Sif's wrists. "Of course! The Jotun fiend must be absorbing magic from the scrolls – but how? There is no teacher in that realm save Natasha, and she was a neophyte."

"Is there any other way to absorb that magical energy?"

The stars wheeled overhead. "There is one way, but it is very dangerous."

Sif's face lit in a delighted smile. "I adore danger. Tell me."

"The power of the scrolls can be accessed through sexuality." An idea grew, and Amora saw the logic of it; under Sif's steady gaze it all made sense. "Natasha instinctively felt that power, but she wasn't prepared. I guided her away from the erotic arts since they could have torn her body apart. Sif, if the Jotun has discovered how to access it using her as a lodestone, there is no telling what his race cannot achieve. They could return and ice our entire kingdom. All would be lost in an instant."

Sif shook her head. "That is simply not going to happen. You will find a way to stop it."

"I would have to absorb more powers myself. There are hundreds of scrolls in Queen Frigga's library, but there is hardly enough time if he can already move between the worlds."

"Then let us take the shortcut." Sif moved to grasp Amora's bright curls, pulled them so the enchantress felt her face tipped up. The enchantress was pressed to Sif's body from shoulders to toes; Amora felt the small, elegant breasts hard against her. Gods, it was divine. Amora wanted to share Sif's breath, taste her kiss and more. Her eyes closed, and somehow together they became the sky, the entire world; it was as though Amora tasted the essence of bravery and strength itself under Sif's demanding kisses.


	9. A Gathering Storm

**9 A Gathering Storm**

* * *

Thor struck the finely inlaid table with both fists. "We have progressed no further on the kidnapping of my accomplice from Midgard. How can I return to Commander Fury and state I have lost the finest spy in nine realms?"

"Begging your pardon, Prince Thor, but we may have a breakthrough." Amora hid her joy as she spoke; under the table Sif found her knee and slipped sly fingers over the slim thighs of the enchantress. "I am developing new magic to discover a way through to Jotunheim. However, I must caution you a creature from that godsforsaken land is on the move. Every instinct tells me the frost giant who stole Natasha from us can now negotiate the branches of Yggdrasil."

"He is not the only one." Breathing heavily, Thor leaned on his fists. "Our intelligence tells us there is an army from Svartelheim on the way."

"Svartelheim? They can't wipe their own bottoms, let alone forge an attack." Sif peeled up the silk dress and stroked the sensitive flesh inside Amora's thigh.

"However, they work in conjunction with Alfheim. Apparently one of the elf-maidens was stolen, just as Natasha was, by the Jotnar. During her imprisonment she expired in Jotunheim, and the Ljósálfar are furious." Thor sat and passed one massive hand over his face, clouded with trouble.

"Can we use that to our advantage, dreadful as the news is?" Amora sat forward. "We have something in common with Alfheim, after all. If we could reach the Ljósálfar through a backhand entry into Alfheim and negotiate for a diplomatic relationship, it would win us an ally. Svartelheim would be left on its own to flounder with lumps of gold and rocks, as they always do."

Sif nodded. "This makes sense."

"And," Amora continued, "I believe I have the way to travel without being seen. In company with Lady Sif, we have found the paths of Yggdrasil ourselves."

"But this is highly dangerous!" Thor's brows knit together.

"I can negotiate it with ease." Amora spoke with more confidence than she felt; it was ever her way.

"Could you bring an army?"

"Hardly. At the most I can bring one other. Sif is the most likely – we work well together, and her energies align with mine. She and I could go to Alfheim this afternoon, if you allow it."

Thor seemed to hide a smile. "Could you indeed? By the beard of the Allfather, I _will_ allow it. I must caution you, however, to take great care - these are slippery, dangerous times we live in."

* * *

Laufey grunted at the servant and indicated her empty trencher; instantly the lad seized it and scuttled off. Farbouti shouted after the boy to return with more wine. The king had lost his nightly argument with Loki's mother, and thus Farbauti was the male that night; probably the sex switch wouldn't last long. One would batter the other into changing before the morning star arose over Jotunheim.

Natasha had refused to sit on Loki's lap any longer, and he noticed her shivering on the iron seat – so cold it probably sang in her bones. "At least the chair isn't carved from ice,' she whispered when he knitted his brows in concern. "Seriously, Loki - I'm not made of china, you know."

The table in front of him and his mate rattled; something clattered on the floor, and Natasha jumped away from spilled stew and splattered gravy. Helblindi had caused Loki's plate to fall again, the third time during the meal.

Loki gritted his teeth, picked up the trencher, and indicated to another servant to refill it; his brother wore a smug look of satisfaction. When more food was brought out, Helblindi reached for Loki's meat. Instantly Natasha caught the edge of the new plate, dragged it to her place away from Helblindi's grasping fingers, and picked up a piece of the roast. "Here, Prince," she cooed. "Allow me to serve you."

Loki felt gratified shock throughout his body. He winked at her and leaned forward so she could place the food between his lips; as he leaned back and chewed he saw Laufey and Farbauti exchange a glance.

As for his brother, Helblindi looked as sour as month-old yak milk. "Shall I dandle the infant runt myself?" the giant guffawed.

Natasha seemed to understand Helblindi's words. She ignored him to indicate her own food; Loki picked up on her intent instantly and lifted a tender piece of stew, steaming in the icy room. He and his mate grinned at each other, enjoying the momentary accord.

A sharp rap on his ankle destroyed the mood. Helblindi kicked him again under the table, pretending innocence. Loki knew if he started a fight Laufey would scourge him for it, but another kick made him suck in his breath with pain and anger. "Is something the matter, dear Loki?" his brother sang. "Are you uncomfortable at all?"

One tiny little blade, deadly and sharp as a sting, appeared in Natasha's hand. Casually she waved it under Helblindi's nose. "Bother my mate again," she said, clearly and fluently in the Jotun language, "and I'll cut both your balls off tonight as you sleep, stuff them down your throat, and tie your dick in a knot."

Helblindi froze. He looked to Farbauti, but their mother started to wheeze with laughter. "Balls!" Farbauti shouted. "Prick in a knot! By the snows of the Lost Mountains, Loki, you have captured a wild one. Well done, Natasha the Red!" This was followed by a huge bout of mirth and a clap on his mate's shoulder.

Loki felt warmth, more satisfying than that of any fire, shoot through his being. He had spent his entire life enduring the privations and insults his brother enjoyed, and Laufey always ignored them. "'Tis good for the runt,'" was his father's only reaction. To have someone stand up for him and so successfully was a concept he had never imagined, and he longed to take her upstairs for more of their 'fucking,' to use her word. He felt he could never get enough of his firebird's sweet quim.

Natasha sat back and chewed another piece of meat; she looked entirely unconcerned. "Tell me, Farbouti," she said. "When the Jotnar talk about a Center, what does they mean?"

Farbauti adjusted himself in his chair. "Jotunheim," Loki's mother answered in a deep, male voice, "is a circular realm. Once our center was filled by the Casket of Ancient Winters, but when the artifact was stolen by the foul Aesir the center melted. Since then our land is hollow, revolving around a wasteland of howling winds and echoing space. In short, we have lost our Center."

Stealing a look at Natasha, Loki thought he knew why she asked. It meant she thought of him, of what he said to her when they lay together in their furs. The unexpected happiness clamored within him once more, and he stole one arm around her waist.

"So," Farbouti continued as Natasha made a questioning sound, "since then we Jotnar have always searched for our centers. For me it is this maggot-ridden king over here." He punched Laufey's arm in a friendly fashion, and the female growled and snapped at him.

"There is no such thing," Helblindi announced. "Everyone knows it is hopeless to look for a center, not for Jotunheim nor within our own lives."

Loki longed to crow that he had found his center – it was embodied by the tiny, calm figure of his mate, listening with grave attention to Farbauti. She ignored Helblindi as if he had never spoken. "If you regained the Casket, would it restore this hollow core in your realm?" she asked.

Laufey nodded. "Aye, but many Jotnar have died trying to regain the relic. We might as well give it up as a lost cause." His female form was characteristically gloomy.

"That's enough out of you, Old Lady," Farbauti jeered. Loki's mother rose, seized Laufey, and hoisted her over his shoulder. Without another word the two of them left the room.

* * *

Loki could barely wait until he had Natasha upstairs. As soon as the door closed behind them he pulled the metal tab on her catsuit – what she called a 'zipper' – and dragged it down to release her breasts. "Lay with me," he begged.

Willingly Natasha pushed her sleeves down and jumped into his arms. "Did you hear?" she gasped in between his kisses. "If we can regain the Casket, it would recenter your realm. Do you think it can be done?"

"With you at my side, anything is possible." Loki suckled her sweet nipples, licked the valley between them. "And you asked Farbouti about the center – so curious, little one. Were you thinking of me?"

She favored him with her signature smile - mysterious and hidden, he felt it was meant for him only. "I wanted to know what you meant when you said I was your center," Natasha admitted. "But what – oh, Loki, your tongue feels amazing – what Farbauti told me…" Her words died in a breathy sigh.

Reverently he laid her out on the furs and licked to the warm core, to her own center. Persisting until she shrieked with ecstasy and quivered in release, Loki rode her through it. Ignoring his own member quivering with want for the pale pink slit hidden in her red curls, he leaned on her thigh and smiled at her. How young she looked, how innocent! Yet she was everything to him. "And did it give you ideas, little bird?"

"Yes, and I know you have the same idea." Natasha held out her arms, and with a groan of surrender Loki slid up between her legs to nuzzle her neck. "I was in the palace in Asgard, and I don't know where the casket was kept. But you could bargain for it with my life – offer to trade me for the artifact…"

Loki sat up, fear and outrage coursing through him. "Trade _you?_ Never! I would never! Why would you - what did you – why would you say such a black thing?" Although he had put on the mortal face she seemed to enjoy, he felt his eyes turn red with rage. Unable to stop himself, he grasped her throat. "Why?" he shouted.

"Hey, calm down. It was just an idea." She ran her nails over his scalp, swiveled her slit under his length. "I just thought you could avoid a great deal of bloodshed that way. And by the way, stay blue this time. I want to fuck you – the real you."

"Natasha." Deliberately Loki put his tip into her and moved slowly in circles; he knew she liked the swollen feeling it gave her. Truth be told, it was torture to hold back, but he was determined to have her vows once more. "If you want me, you must promise yourself to me. I already told you as much." Tiny shadows danced in the corners of her eyes as he spoke. Yes, she had something secret planned, but his passion wouldn't let him consider what it might be. Lust roared through his mind, crowding out everything except the flames in his arms. "Tell me," he insisted.

"You heard me at dinner tonight." Natasha's long lashes fluttered over those wonderful blue eyes of hers. "I told Helblindi myself I am your mate, and you are mine. Loki, could you just please push it in a little bit more?"

Tortuously he allowed her more of him, not the full length she wanted. He grinned to feel her fingers on his ass as though she could pull him in with those small, tender hands. "Forever," he demanded. "We are bound together forever."

One tiny hitch in her throat, a hesitation so slight no one else would ever notice. "Forever," she promised.

He could hold back no longer; lust gripped his vitals. With a cry, Loki sank himself inside her, felt her legs wind around his waist as her strong arms clasped his back. She was lying to him – yes, he knew this - but he would find a way to hold her to those words. He had to. _Had to._

There was no other choice.


	10. Helblindi's Folly

**10 Helblindi's Folly**

* * *

Amora tilted her face up as Sif massaged oil into her muscles. "That feels amazing," she purred.

"More amazing than my tongue?"

"Nothing is lovelier than that." Amora cupped Sif's chin, pulled her up, and drew her in for a long kiss; they stood breast to breast with the slickness of the oil between them. Amora had to go on her tiptoes to reach the warrior's lips and whisper in between lovebites, "I have a confession."

"Tell me." Sif took Amora's earlobe between her teeth.

"Our lovemaking – I did not do it only for the magic. I have wanted you since I first arrived in Asgard, years ago."

Sif held her back at arms' length. "Why did you not tell me earlier? I could never resist you for my part, your intelligence and beauty outshine the entire court."

"Because…" Amora hesitated. "Perhaps it is difficult to separate desire from warlust in you at times, Sif. Your eyes shine when you look at me, but they glint before an enemy's sword as well."

"Ah. That is because I consider you a realm to be conquered. I want every part of you."

Amora shook her head. "Conquered? No. Although I am yours now and always will be, I keep my own sovereignty. I determined thus when I was forced out of the Norns because of those desires I hid from myself – my lust for women was considered unnatural. Forbidden."

With a sudden movement Sif lifted the enchantress up into her arms and deposited her on the bed. "Forbidden? The feel of your sweet, oiled skin against mine is so lovely it should indeed be outlawed. Kiss me, Amora, and know I will have every inch of you as mine."

Amora wound her fingers in Sif's long, straight hair – blond as her own curls – and sank her teeth into her lover's throat. She undulated down Sif's body, pausing to tongue the small, perfect breasts, the muscled belly, those lean flanks, and the elegant slit. Within awaited a musky odor that was pure Sif: _Delicious,_ Amora thought as she suckled there and flicked her tongue over the hidden pearl. Ah, so gently at first, so soft Sif would barely be able to feel it, exploring with her fingers in the secret passage, grinning as Sif cried out and spurted an explosion of lust. It was their lawless dance, and Amora vowed she would never hold back.

Sif twisted and pulled Amora up to mount her; the warrior slapped her rounded bottom hard enough to sting. Amora gasped and collapsed onto her, pulled Sif in for a passionate kiss to explore her mouth, her breath – every inch, as Sif had vowed. Her oiled skin slicked quickly with their combined juices. She got one, two, three fingers inside and edged Sif close with her thumb. Not too hard as some men did, just the right pressure to – ah!

Another spurt of desire from Sif's mossy little mount, and Amora brought her dripping fingers to her mouth. "Your taste," she moaned.

"I…" Sif's eyes glistened in the lamplight. "Forgive me – I don't know why I do it. My body betrays me thus when I am fevered with love. Isn't it disgusting?"

"Disgusting?" Amora laughed as Sif locked her heels around Amora's back. "I love it, oh so very much. Don't cry, sweetheart – and don't you dare hold back."

"Oh." Sif's hips snapped forward in an escalating rhythm, and with Amora's hand and her musk between them, the two pounded each other into a long series of shared release.

After they recovered their breath, Sif pillowed Amora's head on her shoulder. "Is the magic working?" she whispered.

Amora grinned. "Yes. Our lovemaking has taken me to a whole new level. I know now how to open the branches of Yggdrasil whenever you are ready."

* * *

Loki awoke already inside Natasha; it seemed his firebird had been overcome with desire during the night and had climbed on top of him. At once he pulled her in for more. More and more – would he ever have enough? It seemed his wanting her grew deeper and needier each day.

A series of shouts outside in the passage stopped them; Loki froze, shivering between her thighs. He was so close to the final throes, and she was as well. He could sense it.

"She should be mine!" someone howled. Helblindi, off in another of his rages.

Was he mewling about Natasha? Blinded with rage and desire, Loki vaulted off the bed with her clinging to his waist. His prick seated firmly within her cunt, he crashed open the door to see his brother and Laufey – once again in his masculine form – shouting at each other.

"Fuck off!" Loki was completely incensed. "If you mean Natasha, she is my mate."

"We've already explained this," Natasha added in perfect Jotnar, calm as a queen riding a howdah. "And as you can see, you've interrupted me and Loki – again."

Helblindi struck the wall with one fist so massive it dislodged a large stone. "I don't care about tradition. I don't care if she is yours._ I _want her."

"Enough," Laufey snapped. "I'll be damned if I am woken in the middle of the night to address your tantrums. Get back to bed, Helblindi, and for Skaði's sake find another mate."

"No!" Helbldindi launched himself forward, got Laufey around the waist, and bore them both onto the floor of the passage. Surprised by the attack, Laufey fell heavily, and his head crashed onto the smooth, icy rock. The king seemed to go through a reactive spasm: his limbs shook, the red eyes rolled back, and his jaw hinged shut on his tongue so sharply blood coursed over his jaw.

The fit passed, and the red eyes grew dull, lifeless. Laufey, it appeared, was no more.

Loki was frozen for several moments. At last he helped Natasha descend from his body as gently as he could. "You've killed him," Natasha accused.

Helblindi looked at her, and a sharp cunning swam over his pupils. "I have," he agreed. "This means I am now king of Jotunheim, and my word is law. You will surrender your pet to me, runtling, and she will be mine from henceforth. I claim the strength of kings – you shan't be able to fight me and win now. Surrender her to me, and my thanks for readying her body for my lust…"

The scene actually seemed to shadow and turn black in front of Loki's vision; he had never experienced such roaring anger. With rage curdling in his ears, nose, and lungs, he held up one palm; a green, glowing beam shot out and enveloped his brother's entire body. Helblindi shook within it for several seconds, his face filled with agony…

The light died. And with it, Helblindi slid to the floor beside Laufey. Both he and his father were gone.

"That was a short reign," Loki said with satisfaction.

* * *

He bore the bodies of his father and brother to another room and secured it against discovery; Loki had no more than several hours to prepare the throne for his rule. Natasha would be his queen, and together they would create a new future for his realm.

When he returned, she was dressed in her strange bodysuit and boots. "What do you need me to do?" she asked in a quiet tone.

Loki nodded; his firebird was perfect, instantly ready to move with him through the next phase. "I am considered a runt, an outcast. Do you understand this? If I announced Helblindi's murder of Laufey and my defense of the king, the guards would riot. The entire realm would be thrown into chaos rather than accept me as their ruler."

Natasha stepped close and spread her hands over his chest. "Tell me," she said.

"We need to find the Casket of Ancient Winters _now,"_ he whispered into her ear. "If I can bring it with me to the throne, it will herald peace instead of war. It is the only way."

Her gaze was sharp and intelligent; Natasha closed her eyes for a moment as though she experienced some overwhelming sadness. "I see," she murmured. "Will you take me with you? I can fight at your side and, should it come to it, I can convince the Asgardian warriors to trade for the casket."

Something was wrong with what she said, but Loki was filled with overwhelming excitement. Helblindi had been a constant torment since his first memories; he was overjoyed to be free of his brother. As for Laufey, the king had been completely cold in any dealing with the 'runtling.' Loki would mourn him in public, but privately he felt very little emotion at their deaths.

Farbauti, on the other hand, would be a different matter. She would fill the ice tower with her grief, but Loki could deal with that later.

Natasha's voice broke into his thoughts. "Can you open the passage to the Casket now for both of us?"

"Yes." Confidence in his abilities was a rushing river, forging new strength within him. Loki laughed and spread out his arms, preparing to open a ribbon of possibility between his realm and Asgard.

One small tug on his shoulder stopped him. "Please," Natasha said. "Just for luck, Loki. Will you kiss me first?"

Loki chuckled again and swept her into his arms. "They interrupted us, did they not? My little bird, when we return victorious I will have sex with you all night. No - I mean to say we will do the Fucking, as long as you want. Will you like that?"

"Yes," Natasha replied in between breathless kisses. "Yes, I would like that."

* * *

Space and dimension folded themselves outwards from his magic like the negative version of an ice dance. He found the possibility of voyage between the realms and opened that change-within-chance; as soon as the portal was prepared Loki wound his arms around Natasha and rushed them inside. They were swept into a dizzying series of past and future and now, all combined together, along with far and near.

And the ravens: Loki hadn't bargained on the ravens. Dark birds wheeled overhead, blips of accusing reality in his illusion. They called to him, and he found he could understand the birds' cries: _Beware. End. Darkness. Death. Beware. _Thus shouted the ravens, but Loki paid no heed.

"This is crazy." Natasha's voice echoed in the space, both tiny and vast; she seemed exhilarated by the wild magic. Probably her cunt shivered with the desire his enchantment gave her, and he longed to finish their lovemaking so ignominiously interrupted by Helblindi, that pig-swine. Loki was enchanted by her courage in walking the branches of Yggdrasil with him, no questions asked, no complaints, no frail excuses. _She will be a perfect queen,_ he thought.

The ravens interlocked overhead and became a fractal pattern, a solid mass, a dark door. Loki realized they were no longer in the uncertainty of Yggdraspace; instead they stood in front of a massive vault within an echoing system of tunnels. "Asgard," he breathed in Natasha's ear.

She nodded and indicated the lock on the door. "Magic holds it, I'm pretty sure," she whispered. "I can't pick it for you, even if I had a set of tumbler pins."

He nodded and allowed a thread of enchantment to squeeze inside the lock, convince the magic, pulleys, and liquids inside to undo themselves without exploding. The entire door was a trap, and Loki wove the threads within the fabric of the vault itself so the metal and stone unfolded to admit them entrance.

The door opened, and Loki saw they stood at the top of a stone staircase. Carefully he and Natasha descended to a plinth where the Casket waited as it had for centuries; his heart gave a queer bound at the sight. "Don't touch it," he muttered to her.

"All yours, dude." Natasha spoke cheerfully, but she hid some secret sadness. He had no time to discover what it was; Loki planned to kiss her sorrow away later. Yes, later.

They approached the Casket; Loki unfurled a long spool of prayers to Skaði and his hands shook as he palmed the sacred artifact. _By the snows of Karongar!_ he exulted silently. It had actually happened, and everything was now possible. Jotunheim would come back to life. Natasha was his. Helblindi was no more, and Loki was the new King.

"Stop." A low voice at the top of the stone steps.

Loki and Natasha both turned to see two women, both with golden hair. One he recognized, the curly-tressed enchantress. So she had found her way out of the iced torment Helblindi had laid on her! Well, she would have to step aside if she didn't want to return to that cold Hel…

"I have placed a protection upon the realm," the enchantress stated. "You came in by the power of the scrolls, but you cannot leave."

"Then I will destroy Asgard and you with it." Loki spoke with utmost certainty. The power surged throughout his body, making his heart beat in his throat and raising the long prick between his legs. _When we return,_ he vowed, _Natasha will have her satisfaction again and again._ Loki felt he could never have enough.

"No." Natasha stepped forward, avoiding Loki's eyes. "There will be no destroying of realms. You and Sif are involved in another war, isn't that right?"

The one with long, straight hair seemed surprised. "How did you…" She closed her lips tightly.

"I've been in too many wars not to recognize the signs – your weapons are at the ready, you carry more than enough to take down the first line of a regiment, and you have a general attitude of wariness. Let's come to an agreement before we destroy each other."

"No agreement," Loki hissed. "Natasha, come to my side! We will take the Casket and return, or these two will suffer."

"I am quite as strong as you, Jotun," the enchantress stated. "You will be the one to suffer."

"Oh, just shut up about suffering and chaos!" Natasha said angrily. "Listen to my bargain. Loki gets to keep his Casket – it returns to Jotunheim here and now."

"We cannot do that, Natasha." It was the one with straight hair, braided in a long snake as thick as Natasha's arm.

"Sif, what if I guaranteed he uses it only on his realm? Never as a weapon against Asgard?"

"How will you do that?" The enchantress and Loki both asked the question at the same time.

Natasha shrugged. "Simple. I stay here as bait. If Jotunheim ever uses the Casket against you, my life is forfeit."

"No!" Loki shouted. "No part of this – you – no …" His words seemed to fail him as he saw it was what she had planned all along. Hence her sadness and the request for one last kiss.

"I accept the forfeit," Amora announced. She nodded firmly and sketched a figure in the air.

Loki watched in horror as the space unfolded behind him. For a moment Natasha and the two golden-haired women hung in front of him like a picture; it was a split second and eternity at the same moment. Time meant nothing, and all he knew was lightning reflexes and a terrible, overriding anger. Natasha's mouth moved in a desperate attempt to say some final farewell; did she say the word 'center?' He couldn't hear over the cries of the ravens: _Beware. End. Darkness. Death. Beware._

His mind cleared, and he suddenly realized how he could hurt her and display his own sorrow in one final action. Loki hawked back as roughly as he could and spat at the dwindling brightness that was his firebird.

The ravens circled overhead as space and time vomited him back into his own room inside the ice tower. Loki stood there, terribly alone, with the Casket of Ancient Winters in his hands.


End file.
